The Paths of Love and Hatred
by Roving Otter
Summary: Sometimes a single choice can change the course of many lives. In Yashamaru's case, it's the choice to betray or save a child who trusts him. May diverge from the manga/anime's plot in later chapters. -DISCONTINUED-
1. Chapter 1

AN: Until now, I've pretty much just written Yashamaru as a total bastard. I decided to try delving more deeply into his character and his complicated relationship with Gaara in this story. Iwao is the name I gave the Fourth Kazekage, since calling him "the Fourth Kazekage" all the time is kind of awkward. The name means "stone." As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

Iwao was a practical man. As Kazekage, he could afford to be nothing less. He had learned to suppress feelings such as love and hate and simply do what needed to be done for his people.

When they lowered his wife's shroud-wrapped body into the ground, he did not weep. Karura was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good, and dying for one's village was the highest honor a ninja could attain. Had she been in a more rational state of mind, he was sure, she would have been happy to make that sacrifice.

Next to him, Temari sobbed on her brother's shoulder, while Kankurou tried to choke back his own tears. Elder Chiyo stood beside them, her head bowed, her face deeply lined with sorrow. Iwao watched calmly as the mourners dropped flowers into the open grave. Shovelfuls of dirt landed atop the corpse, covering it.

The priest said words over the gravestone, then urged the mourners to close their eyes as he led them in prayer. When it was over, Iwao opened his eyes and looked up at the man standing across from him, the man holding the Kazekage's infant son in his arms: Karura's younger brother, Yashamaru.

Tears streaked his face, but he was not sobbing. He glared at Iwao with a look of pure, concentrated loathing.

Iwao was accustomed to hatred. Over the years, he'd faced and defeated countless enemies. But now, as he looked into those eyes—eyes that burned like cold, violet-gray fire—a chill slid down his spine. He averted his gaze.

Foolish, to let it affect him so. What did _he _have to fear from the likes of that man? As a ninja, Yashamaru was mediocre at best. He had certain valuable skills, but he was soft, utterly lacking in ambition. A non-threat. Yet something in those eyes unnerved Iwao.

No doubt Yashamaru resented him for taking away his precious big sister. Iwao had expected as much. But if he left the situation as it was, that man could become a problem.

Something had to be done.

* * *

Iwao sat at his desk, studying the ninja he'd just hired. The masked mercenary stood with his arms crossed over his chest, one knee bent slightly as he leaned back against the wall. Black, form-fitting cloth covered his body from head to toe, leaving only his eyes exposed.

Generally, Iwao tried to avoid dealing with rogue ninjas, but in this case it was a necessary evil. "I understand you specialize in mind control?"

"Not mind control. Mental manipulation. There's a difference."

"Whatever you want to call it. This man I told you about, Yashamaru—I need to make sure he doesn't get any thoughts about betraying me. I have enough problems to deal with. My village's budget has been slashed down to nothing and my resources are stretched thin. The last thing I need is an underling plotting against me. With Karura dead, I fear he's become a bit unhinged, and he blames me for her death."

The mercenary chuckled. "Probably because you're the one who killed her."

The corner of Iwao's eye twitched. "I did not kill her. She died birthing Gaara." Of course, he had known what would happen. But even so. "I'd advise you to guard your tongue. You may not be one of my subjects, but trust me when I say you do not want me as an enemy."

"Right, right. Sorry." The man appeared annoyingly un-intimidated. "I have to ask, if you're worried about this fellow betraying you, why not just have him killed? I could do that too. I'm known for my mental manipulation Jutsu, but honestly, I find killing more fun."

Iwao remembered the cold look in Yashamaru's eyes, and for a moment he was tempted. Then he shook his head. Killing was wasteful, and he had too few shinobi under his command as it was. "He may yet serve a purpose. With Karura dead, I need someone to serve as Gaara's caretaker, and Yashamaru is the most logical choice. He's her brother, after all...and he seems to have taken a shine to Gaara."

"Hmm." The masked ninja tilted his head and rubbed his jaw.

Iwao drummed his fingers on the desk. "Well? Can you do it?"

"It's not a question of whether I _can. _It's a question of how you want it done. If he's filled with hatred toward you, I can't simply erase those feelings…not without causing significant brain damage, anyway. I can divert the hatred away from you, but it will need someplace to go, some other object."

"Another person, you mean?"

"Yes. Of course, we can't just choose someone at random. It has to seem logical and natural, or he'll realize something's amiss. In any case, it will be a complicated and delicate process. If anything goes wrong it could create mental instability in the future. I'll need to carve new pathways in his mind, put up walls, tweak memories, plant a few subconscious suggestions…"

"I don't care how you do it," Iwao snapped. "Just get it done."

He shrugged. "As you wish, Kazekage-sama." He gave Iwao a bow which contained more than a hint of mockery, then vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Arrogant prick," Iwao muttered and went back to looking over his papers.

Only later did it occur to him that he really should have spoken with the mercenary ninja a bit longer. And he wondered…who _had _that man chosen as the object of Yashamaru's hatred?

-To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

_Love is a choice._ That's what Yashamaru had always believed.

Though Karura died screaming in rage, cursing the village—and her husband, in particular—Yashamaru decided to love the child she'd left behind. Little Gaara might have Shukaku sealed within him, but he was still a baby in need of care.

Then, on the morning after the funeral, he looked into Gaara's crib. He saw those dark-ringed eyes peering out of the infant's tiny face, and loathing slammed into his gut like a fist. His hands tightened on the crib's railing. His first impulse was to grab a pillow and smother the squirming mass of human flesh in the crib.

_You, _snarled a dark voice in his heart. _You killed her! You destroyed my life! Demon! Monster!_

He turned away, breathing hard, and pressed one hand to his brow. _What's wrong with me? _Gaara wasn't responsible for Karura's death. He _knew _that, and yet…

He looked at the infant again. Gaara blinked up at him and gurgled. Yashamaru forced himself to study the tiny form, the pudgy little limbs, the tuft of downy red hair. Not a monster, he thought. A child. Slowly, carefully, he lifted Gaara out of the crib.

_Drop him, _whispered that dark inner voice. _Crush his skull._

Yashamaru shook his head, trembling. Grief, he thought, that was all. Grief playing tricks on his exhausted mind. He carefully lay Gaara back in the crib.

At first, he tried to convince himself that the surge of hatred had been a fluke. But as the weeks went on, the feeling remained: a slow, cold fire burning in the depths of his heart. He told himself over and over that it was irrational to hate an innocent child, a child who had never asked to be the host for a demon, a child who was as much a victim as Karura herself. But the dark thing in his heart did not listen to reason.

Still, he reminded himself: _Love is a choice._ So when the Kazekage appointed Yashamaru as Gaara's caretaker, he accepted his task willingly. He would have done it anyway. With a dead mother, a father always occupied with his duties, and siblings he was not allowed to see outside the occasional supervised visit, Gaara needed someone to watch over him. He would raise the boy as his own, Yashamaru vowed, raise him with kindness. These dark feelings would vanish with time.

He forced a smile onto his face and went through the motions of love. He changed the hated creature's diapers, fed him, bathed him, talked to him, hoping that with these simple rituals, the love would begin to grow naturally in his heart. But whenever he looked at the child, all he saw was the face of his sister's killer. The memory of Karura's agonized screams echoed over and over in his brain.

The hate grew like a cancer, consuming and overshadowing any affection he might have felt. _If not for you_ was the thought always burning behind his eyes. _If not for you she would be alive. If not for you I wouldn't be suffering. If not for you my world would still be whole._

Still, he told himself: _Love is a choice._ And as Gaara grew, it became plain that he needed all the love he could get. The villagers resented and feared him. Other children ran from him. He lived in a cold, dark, friendless world, surrounded by people who regarded him as a dangerous monster. He needed at least one person who treated him with kindness. So Yashamaru continued to hide his hate from the world. From Gaara.

How could he do otherwise? There was no one else to take care of the boy. No one else would even go near him. If Yashamaru abandoned him, he would be alone.

He found himself wishing that Gaara had never been born, wishing for his death. He didn't want to look at the child's face anymore, because every time he did, he saw her—a reminder of what he'd lost.

But love was a choice. He still believed that. And Gaara was all he had…so he would go on loving him, even as hate rotted out his insides, even as it tore the fabric of his mind and slowly drove him mad.

* * *

"All right, Gaara-sama. It's time for your check-up." Yashamaru pulled out a thermometer. "Say ahh."

Gaara opened his mouth. "Ahh."

Yashamaru slid the thermometer under his tongue. Gaara sat on the couch in the small home they shared, his teddy bear beside him.

Among his other duties, Yashamaru was supposed to make sure that Gaara stayed in good health. So far, he'd never been ill. Perhaps his inner beast also gave him a stronger immune system. Still, Yashamaru was always vigilant.

The thermometer beeped. Yashamaru slid it out from under Gaara's tongue and checked the temperature. Normal. He shone a pen-light into Gaara's ears, eyes and mouth. All normal. He recorded his blood pressure, his weight. He took out a stethoscope, pressed it to Gaara's chest and listened to his heartbeat, then asked him to take a deep breath. Gaara did.

Yashamaru smiled and set the stethoscope aside. "Well, it seems you're in good health, overall. Though you've lost a little weight since last time. Have you been eating enough?"

Gaara lowered his gaze. "I'm not hungry. I don't think I'm sick, but…I don't feel good. My tummy is all tight and knotted up." He paused. "Yashamaru…why do bad things happen wherever I go?"

"What do you mean?"

Gaara stared at the floor. "Yesterday, I went to the playground. The other kids all ran away when they saw me. I tried to stop one of them…a little girl. I…" He swallowed. "I just wanted her to stay. I didn't mean to hurt her. But she started bleeding and crying."

"You have to be careful about that, Gaara-sama. You're very strong, and it's easy for you to injure people when you get upset. I know you don't mean to hurt anyone, but you must learn how to control your powers."

"I know. I try, but it keeps happening. I think I must be a bad person."

"That isn't true."

"I know what people say about me when they think I can't hear them. That I'm a monster. That I'm dangerous. That I never should have been born."

"People say cruel things sometimes. But just because they say it, that doesn't make it true." He paused. "Do…do you want a hug?"

Gaara rubbed the back of one hand across his eyes. "You don't like hugging me. I can tell. You get all tense."

"That isn't true. I—"

"You don't have to lie." Gaara looked up and forced a smile. "I know you're afraid of me too. I've hurt you before." He reached out and touched a half-healed cut on Yashamaru's cheek.

Yashamaru flinched and pulled away. He couldn't help it.

Gaara noticed, looked away and clutched his own chest. He'd been doing that a lot lately, Yashamaru had noticed—clutching at his heart, as if it hurt. Poor child.

_Poor child? _sneered the dark thing inside him. _He deserves this. After all the fear and suffering he's caused…_

No. It wasn't Gaara's fault. How could he help the way he'd been born? If there was anyone to blame, it was…it was…a twinge of pain lanced through Yashamaru's head, and his mind went blank for a moment. He blinked, dazed, and found his thoughts drifting back to Gaara. He knew he'd been thinking of something else a moment ago, but he couldn't recall what.

He noticed tears glistening in his nephew's eyes. "Gaara-sama, please…don't be upset."

"I feel so bad, Yashamaru. I hate being a monster. I hate hurting people. But I can't help it."

"It won't be like this forever. As you get older you'll gain greater control of your powers, then things like this won't happen. People will learn to accept you."

"You think so?"

"Of course." Yashamaru gazed at Gaara's forlorn little face. It was fortunate for everyone in the village, he thought, that Gaara was a gentle and sensitive boy…aside from his occasional outbursts, that was. Were he less sweet-natured, the streets would probably be littered with corpses by now. Yashamaru wondered, however, if that might soon come to pass. At age six, Gaara was already showing signs of mental and emotional instability, and keeping him under control became more and more difficult with each passing day.

Yashamaru hesitated, then reached out and ruffled Gaara's hair. It took all his willpower to touch him. His skin crawled, but he forced himself not to pull away. "You're not a monster," said Yashamaru.

Gaara looked up, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm not?"

"No. You're just a very special little boy."

"Yashamaru…" Gaara looked at him, his forehead wrinkled, his eyes filled with the yearning to believe him. Then he took Yashamaru's hand in both of his, pressed it to his cheek and closed his eyes.

Gaara's cheek was soft and smooth, but to Yashamaru it felt like touching rotten, maggot-ridden meat. His stomach and chest tightened, and the bitterness of raw hatred lay thick on his tongue, but he willed his body to be still and let Gaara clutch his hand for comfort. At last, Gaara released it, and Yashamaru let out a tiny, almost inaudible breath of relief.

"I feel so lonely sometimes." Gaara looked at the framed picture of Karura sitting nearby. He picked it up and studied it.

The dark thing inside Yashamaru hissed and arched its back like an agitated cat. _Mine! _it snapped. _That's mine! You have no right to touch it with those filthy hands, you mewling, sniveling little…_

_He has every right, _Yashamaru told himself firmly.

Gaara set the picture gently on the table. "I know you said that my mother still loves me, even if she's up in Heaven now. But I can't see her. I can't touch her. Sometimes it's hard to feel like she's even there."

"I'm here. You can see me and touch me."

Gaara raised his eyes.

Yashamaru knew he should tell Gaara that he loved him. That would make him feel better. But he could never bring himself to say those words. So he told him the closest thing to he could: "You're very important to me, you know."

Which was true, in its way.

"Thank you, Yashamaru," Gaara said quietly. But there was a hint of disappointment in his voice. Those weren't the words he needed.

_Let me learn to love this child, _Yashamaru prayed. _He needs it so badly. Let me be what he needs. _But the hatred remained, like a thorn buried deep in his heart.

* * *

Later, Yashamaru left the house with Gaara following close behind. He needed to make a quick run to the store and get some ingredients for dinner. He held Gaara's hand as they crossed the street. He found himself wondering what it would be like to squeeze that hand until the tiny bones inside snapped. The dark, hating thing in his heart licked its lips at the thought. The rest of him shuddered in horror.

It was impossible, anyway. Gaara's sand protected him, no matter what.

As they rounded a bend in the street, Gaara froze, looking up. Yashamaru followed his gaze and saw Iwao standing on a street corner, leaning against a wall, one hand in his pocket. His posture was always loose and casual—like a lounging jungle cat—yet somehow he radiated authority no matter what he was doing.

In one hand he held a chocolate ice cream cone.

"_Tou-sama_," Gaara said, his voice breathless with surprise. "G-good morning."

"Here." Iwao held the ice cream cone out to Gaara.

Gaara stared, eyes wide, mouth open.

"You like ice cream, don't you?"

"Y-yes."

"Take it."

Gaara reached out and took the cone, his cheeks flushed bright pink.

"Eat it all, now," said Iwao. "We mustn't waste food."

"Yes, Father. Thank you very much."

Yashamaru stared at Iwao, bewildered. The Kazekage was not a loving or attentive father. It was rare for him to show any affection toward his children, especially Gaara, whom he viewed as a dangerous weapon. What was going on?

Iwao turned and walked down the street, hands in his pockets.

Gaara watched him go, then he and Yashamaru resumed walking. Gaara licked the ice cream cone, smiling. "I didn't think Father liked me," he said. "But maybe he does. What do you think, Yashamaru?"

"Of course he does," said Yashamaru, though he wasn't at all sure that was true.

At the end of the street, three girls were playing jump-rope, two of them turning the rope and chanting some schoolyard song while the third jumped. As soon as they spotted Gaara, they dropped the rope and ran away.

Across the street, a plump, motherly looking woman walked alongside a boy about Gaara's age. When she noticed Gaara, fear flashed across her face. She tightened her grip on the boy's hand and hurried around the corner, vanishing from sight.

Gaara looked down, and a spasm of pain crossed his small face. He continued to lick the ice cream cone, but his smile had vanished.

They entered the store. Yashamaru grabbed a basket from the stack by the door and began selecting items from the shelves. Gaara trailed along behind him.

As the other customers noticed Gaara's presence, their eyes widened. Whispers filled the store.

"It's him."

"Careful. Don't go near him."

"Let's just go."

Quietly, the other customers slipped out of the store one by one, until Yashamaru and Gaara were alone. Yashamaru walked up to the front counter.

The man's eyes darted to Gaara. Sweat gleamed on his bald head. "G-good morning, Gaara-sama. What a pleasure to see you. And good morning to you as well, Yashamaru-san."

"Good morning." Yashamaru set the items on the counter. "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, er, um...just take it. Take whatever you need." He was shaking.

Yashamaru sighed. He pulled a few bills from his wallet and lay them on the counter. "Here. This should cover it. Come along, Gaara-sama." He took Gaara's hand and left the store.

They passed the playground. A little girl of about four or five was playing in the sandbox, her leg bandaged from the knee down. At the sight of her, Gaara's breath caught in his throat. He pulled his hand from Yashamaru's and walked toward her. "Hi."

The girl looked up, and her eyes widened.

"Please don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I'm sorry about yesterday…"

The little girl screamed and ran toward a woman sitting on a park bench nearby. The woman looked up, gasped, and swept the little girl into her arms. "Don't you dare hurt my child!" she shouted at Gaara. "Do you hear me? Never come near her again!"

Several people in the vicinity tensed and looked up. Then they slowly backed away. Though everyone called Gaara a monster behind his back, most were respectful to his face...or avoided him altogether. When Gaara got upset, people got hurt. But there was no fear in the woman's face--just cold anger. A mother defending her child was more ferocious than the most battle-hardened warrior, thought Yashamaru.

Gaara stood motionless, his eyes huge. "I…I just wanted to say sorry." There was a flutter in his voice, as if he were holding back tears. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"I don't care! Stay away, you monster!" The woman ran away, the little girl still held tight in her arms. Gaara stared in the direction they'd gone, his mouth trembling.

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

AN: A thank you to Dark Hearted Shinobi, Senpuu and gaileefanshoutout for reviewing.

* * *

_Wednesday, June 15th:_

_The results of Gaara's monthly physical were normal, aside from a slight loss of weight. I will work to correct this issue._

_Today, after I took him to the store, he apologized to the girl he injured yesterday. When the girl ran away, he seemed distressed but did not lash out. I believe this demonstrates some progress concerning his control of Shukaku. His developing empathy toward others and his desire for acceptance is also encouraging. As I've stated before, I do not believe there is any genuine malice in Gaara. The incidents we've discussed stem from a loss of control rather than a desire to inflict harm._

_Concerning his psychological health, the trends I noted in my last report have become more pronounced. He is often quiet and withdrawn, he shows little interest in eating, games or other activities, and he cries almost daily, usually alone in his room. I believe he is experiencing acute emotional pain due to his isolation. He describes a persistent "achy" feeling in his chest and a tightness in his stomach, which I believe to be psychosomatic representations of this distress rather than physical illness._

_As per your orders, I've been giving him mood stabilizers and antidepressants along with his vitamins over the past two weeks, but he shows no improvement. Medications in general, it seems, have no effect on Gaara. Perhaps Shukaku somehow prevents his body from absorbing them, or perhaps his metabolism is simply different from a normal person's._

_Forgive me if I'm overstepping my bounds, but I'd like to recommend that Gaara be allowed to see Temari and Kankurou more often. Brief monthly visits are not enough for him to form a real relationship with his siblings. I know you're only concerned about their safety, but I think it would help Gaara a great deal to have a bond with someone other than myself._

_This concludes my report._

Yashamaru set his pen down and slipped the paper into a manilla folder along with the rest of that week's reports. At the end of each week, he delivered them to the Kazekage, who kept them all on file: a detailed, day-to-day description of Gaara's activities, his physical and mental condition.

Strange, thought Yashamaru, that Iwao knew almost everything there was to know about his son, yet had had so little contact with him.

* * *

That night, as Yashamaru prepared pork dumplings and rice for dinner, the phone rang. He picked it up. "Hello?"

"How is Gaara?" asked a deep voice.

Yashamaru blinked. "Kazekage-sama? He…" Yashamaru glanced over his shoulder at Gaara, who sat on the living room floor, surrounded by pieces of construction paper and drawing on one with a crayon. "He's fine. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Did he finish that ice cream?"

"What? Oh, yes."

"Keep an eye on him tonight. Report any changes to me."

"What changes do you expect?"

"That's none of your concern. Also, I'll need you to be at my office tomorrow morning at seven o'clock sharp."

"What—"

There was a click on the other end of the line as he hung up. Yashamaru stared at the receiver in his hand. He set the phone down, checked the dumplings—a few minutes longer, he thought—then approached Gaara and crouched, peering over his shoulder. "What's that you're drawing, Gaara-sama?"

"People."

The paper was covered with crayon drawings of stick figures. Most of them were grouped together on one side of the paper. They had noses, mouths and ears, but no eyes. In one corner, alone and far from the others, was a small figure with red hair.

"Why don't those ones have any eyes?" Yashamaru asked, pointing to the group.

"I hate how they look at me."

"Are you thinking about what happened today? I'm sure that woman didn't really mean what she said to you."

Gaara didn't answer. Instead, he picked up a tan crayon and scribbled over the drawing. There was an odd, detached, glazed-eyed look on his face. "All gone," he said. He continued to scribble, covering the figures with waxy loops and swirls of sandy brown. His breathing had quickened. "All gone."

Sand rustled around him, slithering across the floor like snakes.

"I think you're getting upset again," Yashamaru said softly. "Please try to calm down." He took the crayon out of Gaara's trembling hand.

Gaara blinked and looked up, as if emerging from a trance. His eyes focused. "Yashamaru…"

"Dinner's almost ready. Wash your hands."

Gaara stood, his gaze downcast, and went into the kitchen. Without a word, he washed his hands and sat at the table. Yashamaru dished out the rice and dumplings, poured Gaara a glass of juice and sat down to eat.

Gaara picked at his food.

"Don't you like it?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Gaara-sama...what's wrong?"

Gaara stared down at his plate. His hairless eyebrows bunched together and quivered. "Everyone hates me."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is. Every time I go outside, people run away. No one will come near me. Even when they try to act nice, I can tell they're scared."

"What about me?"

"You're only taking care of me because Father ordered you to."

"That's not why. It's true that he appointed me as your caretaker, but I would have done it anyway. You're my nephew, after all."

"You're lying," Gaara said quietly. "You say I'm important to you, but you hardly ever touch me and you never hold me. You don't like me. You're only nice to me because that's your job, but inside, you're afraid of me. You're just like everyone else."

Yashamaru took a slow, deep breath, struggling for control.

The dark thing in his heart growled. _Ungrateful little brat. Every day you swallow your hatred and pain for his sake, but he'll never appreciate it, will he? Go on, tell him the truth. He's asking for it. Tell him that the reason you never hold him is because he's a repulsive little monster and whenever he touches you, you want to retch._

_No._

_How long do you think you can keep up this charade?_

_As long as I have to. I'm all he has. He needs me._

_You're fooling yourself if you think you can win a war against your own heart. Go on, let it out. Tell him…_

His hands trembled and tightened on his chopsticks. They snapped, and the sharp crack of wood echoed through the silence. Gaara flinched.

He set the broken chopsticks down, then stood and turned away from Gaara, unable to look at him. "Forgive me, Gaara-sama, I'm suddenly not feeling very well. I'm going into the other room to rest for awhile. Please try to finish your dinner. If you lose anymore weight, your father will scold me for not taking proper care of you."

He heard the coldness in his own voice and hated it. He wanted to take it back. If he said another word, however, his fragile control would crumble and the dark thing inside him would have its way. The dark thing wanted to shatter Gaara, to tear down his paper-thin sanity, to dig its claws into the soft meat of his heart and squeeze 'til it burst, watch him squirm and whimper as his world fell apart. The dark thing burned with rage. And it was so strong. So strong. It took all Yashamaru's will just to restrain it as he walked out of the kitchen.

"Wait!" He heard the patter of footsteps coming toward him. Tiny arms wrapped around his leg. He looked down in surprise to see Gaara on his knees, hugging Yashamaru's leg tightly, his head bowed. "I'm sorry, Yashamaru. I didn't mean it. I love you."

Yashamaru felt his eyes widen. "Gaara-sama…"

"Please don't hate me. I'll die if you hate me. Please…I'll try harder to be good. I promise."

He was shaking so hard. This child was virtually invincible, yet he trembled, terrified by the possibility of losing the one person who gave him love. Or at least the illusion of it.

Yashamaru reached down and lay a hand atop his head. "It's all right," he said quietly. "I'm not angry."

Gaara looked up, his eyes shining with tears. "I didn't mean what I said. I—I was just upset. You're not like them. You're the only person who's ever nice to me."

Yashamaru's heart ached with shame.

_Don't trust those tears, _hissed the dark thing. _He's just using them to manipulate you. He doesn't know the true meaning of suffering._

_Shut up, _he told that inner voice. _Just shut up._

"I'm sorry," whispered Gaara.

"It's already forgiven. And I'm sorry for being sharp with you. I'm a little tense tonight, that's all." Gently, he unwound Gaara's arms from his leg. He crouched, so he was at eye-level with his nephew, and smiled. "Let's finish our dinner, then I'll read you another chapter from our story, all right?"

Gaara nodded, sniffled, and wiped his eyes with one small fist.

They ate. For the first time in several weeks, Gaara finished everything on his plate. Afterward, they sat on the couch side by side. Yashamaru opened the book they'd been reading together while Gaara sat close to him, his teddy bear in his lap.

"…and Ryo knew that he had to help Aki escape the clutches of the cruel wizard, even if it cost him his life. Because she was his best friend, and without her, life would be empty and gray. So he strapped on his father's armor and picked up his sword…"

As Gaara listened, his arm tightened around his teddy bear. His hand drifted to his mouth and he slipped a thumb inside.

Gaara still sucked his thumb from time to time. At age six, it was probably abnormal, but Yashamaru had never tried to break him of the habit. It seemed cruel to deny him any comfort, no matter how small.

"…and though everyone told him he wasn't strong enough, Ryo felt in his heart that he would defeat the wizard's army, because love guided him, and there was no force in the world more powerful…"

Yashamaru wondered if it was cruel, reading Gaara stories that portrayed love as such a great and wonderful thing. After all, love was precisely what Gaara lacked. Of course, it was hard to avoid stories about love. They were everywhere. Everyone wanted love, craved love. Aside from food, water and shelter, it was the most basic human need in existence. Perhaps even more basic than those, since people willingly gave up their lives for it.

He read to Gaara for twenty minutes or so. After he finished the chapter, he closed the book and set it aside.

Gaara slipped his thumb out of his mouth. "Will you read me more?"

"How about tomorrow? It's late, and I'm getting rather sleepy. I think I should get ready for bed."

"Okay."

Yashamaru brushed his teeth, then retreated to his bedroom, changed into his night-clothes and slid under the covers. But he didn't sleep. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

_Free me from this hatred, _he prayed_. And if You won't do that, at least grant me the patience and strength of will to control it._

It was the same prayer he said every night. He wondered at times if he was being tested, but if so, when would it end? It had been six years. Six long, agonizing years of fighting his own heart, fighting the dark thing within him, swallowing the cruel words that tried to claw their way out of his throat. When would he be free? Or was he fated to bear this hatred for the rest of his life?

_Let me love him. Give me that, and I'll never ask for anything else as long as I live._

And Gaara was such a sweet boy. He could see that, even through the hatred. So sensitive, so fragile, so misunderstood. So like Yashamaru himself at that age. But he'd had a big sister to protect him, someone who understood his differentness and didn't judge him for it, someone he could lean on. What did Gaara have? A confused, emotionally damaged uncle who couldn't even hold him when he cried.

_I'm weak. I'm detestable. I'm a two-faced, cowardly little weasel. Oh, Karura, I miss you. You would have known what to do. Help me, please…I'm so alone without you. Help me…_

He heard the howl of wind outside and sat up to look out the window. He spotted a small form walking down the street, head bowed, sand whirling around him.

Gaara often wandered the village alone at night while others slept. Yashamaru never bothered trying to stop him. He was in no danger, after all. His sand protected him.

Yashamaru couldn't really _stop _Gaara from doing anything, anyway. Gaara could kill him in a matter of seconds if he wanted. Yashamaru was his guardian, but he had no true power over him. Or did he?

That soft, trembling voice echoed in his mind: _I'll die if you hate me._

He watched the tiny form walk down the street and disappear around a corner.

So alone. So very alone.

After a moment, Yashamaru got out of bed, dressed, and slipped into his hooded cloak. Even if Gaara was in no danger, he didn't feel right letting a six-year-old child wander the dark streets by himself. He'd keep an eye on him, at least for tonight.

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

Yashamaru left the house and followed his nephew down the street, keeping a safe distance. Sand whirled around Gaara as he walked, gaze downcast.

Over the years, Yashamaru had learned that the movement of sand around Gaara reflected his emotional state. When he was calm, there was no activity. When he was agitated or tense, sand stirred and rustled. Only when he was very upset did it whip around him like this, as if he were caught in a miniature sandstorm.

Now, Gaara stopped in the middle of the street, bowed his head and clutched handfuls of his hair. His head jerked to one side, then the other. Yashamaru could see his mouth moving, but couldn't hear what he was saying. Was he talking to himself? Or to Shukaku?

Gaara's mouth stopped moving. His shoulders trembled. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, then resumed walking.

Yashamaru followed, keeping to the shadows. He stopped and watched as Gaara ascended the steps to the rooftop of the village temple, where he sometimes went when he was troubled. He stood on the edge of the roof, staring down at the street. He looked so tiny and lonely, high above the village, his form outlined by moonlight. He took a step closer to the edge.

Then he jumped.

Yashamaru gasped. Gaara tumbled through the air, limp as a rag doll.

His body moved on its own. He lunged forward, arms outstretched to catch Gaara…but the sand caught him first. Halfway down, the whirling particles drew together, forming a cushion beneath him. The bed of sand floated down to the street, then dissolved.

Yashamaru withdrew into the shadows, placed a hand over his racing heart and let out a shaky breath.

Gaara remained on his hands and knees for a long moment, head bowed. He clutched his chest, trembling as sand swirled around him. Then he threw his head back and screamed, a long, shrill, wild wail that sent chills skittering down Yashamaru's spine. If he hadn't known better, he would have said it was the howl of some desert animal dying at the claws of another.

The scream trailed off into silence. Gaara collapsed to the street and curled into a ball.

Yashamaru took a deep breath. A part of him wanted to go to Gaara, pick him up and carry him home…but the sand still whipped around him, spinning so fast he appeared to be encased in a churning, dust-colored sphere. When he was in such an agitated state, he was dangerous. If Yashamaru approached him now, Gaara might kill him without meaning to.

So he remained in the shadows, watching until the sand died down. Then Gaara picked himself up off the street and resumed walking.

* * *

Yashamaru didn't sleep that night. He followed Gaara awhile longer, then returned to his bed, where he tossed and turned for a few hours.

As sunrise painted the sky, he dragged himself out of bed and into his study. He lay a blank sheet of paper on his desk and picked up a pen.

_Thursday, June 16th:_

_Last night, I followed Gaara during his nightly walk. He climbed to the top of the temple and threw himself off the roof. The sand broke his fall, of course, but the sight disturbed me nonetheless. Did he jump because he trusted the sand to save him? Or was he trying to end his life? I'm not entirely sure. If the latter is true, Gaara's emotional problems may be even worse than we suspected.  
_

He stared at the paper for a long moment. Then he slipped it into the folder along with the others and went into the kitchen, where he began preparing breakfast—tea, fried eggs and toast with jam.

As he set the table, Gaara entered through the front door. Without looking at Yashamaru, he curled up on the living room couch, pulled his teddy bear to his chest and sucked its ear.

Yashamaru cleared his throat. "Gaara-sama? Breakfast is almost ready."

For a moment, Gaara didn't respond. Then he slowly sat up and dragged himself off the couch.

He and Gaara ate together at the kitchen table. Gaara was quiet, picking at his food, the dark circles around his eyes more pronounced than usual. Yashamaru considered saying something about what he'd seen last night, but in the end, he held his tongue and watched as Gaara swirled a piece of crust in a blob of raspberry jam. Sea-green eyes gazed blankly at his plate.

After breakfast, he wandered into the living room, sat on the couch with his teddy bear in his lap and stared at the wall.

Gaara never truly slept, but sometimes he'd drift in and out of a light doze. As Yashamaru watched, his eyelids drooped, his head bowed and the muscles of his face went slack. A moment later, his head jerked up and his eyes flew open, as if someone had jabbed a pin into his arm. Then his lids began to droop once more, and his chin sank to his breastbone.

This would happen over and over. Gaara would doze for anywhere from ten seconds to a minute, then wake with a jerk and a shudder—doze, wake, doze, his eyes rolling and twitching restlessly beneath his bruise-colored lids. Occasionally he moaned or whimpered in his sleep, as if troubled by dark dreams.

_Good. He deserves it, _growled the hating thing inside Yashamaru.

_You're a monster, _he thought—and this time, the words were aimed at himself.

As he washed and dried the dishes, he continued to watch Gaara from the corner of his eye.

Most children looked peaceful and innocent when they slept. Gaara looked as if he were trapped in a private hell, wandering the dark labyrinth of his own mind. Yashamaru wondered if he dreamed, or if Shukaku whispered to him as he hovered on the verge of sleep, seducing him with promises of bloody release.

"I have a meeting with the Kazekage this morning. I'll be back soon."

Gaara didn't answer.

"Gaara-sama?"

Gaara blinked and turned his head slowly toward Yashamaru.

"Wait for me here at the house, all right? If you get hungry again, there's some leftover dumplings in the fridge."

"Okay." Gaara clutched his teddy bear a little tighter. "Yashamaru?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"There's nothing you need to be sorry for, Gaara-sama." He glanced at the clock. He was already running late. If he wasn't there by 7:00 sharp, the Kazekage would be very displeased. "I've got to go. We can talk more when I get back. Be a good boy, now."

Gaara nodded. Then his eyelids drooped, and he slipped back into his restless doze.

* * *

Yashamaru stared at Iwao, half convinced he'd misheard. "You want me to kill him?"

"That's right." Iwao sat at his desk, fingertips pressed together in a steeple.

"But…he's a little boy."

"A little boy with the soul of a bloodthirsty demon." Iwao's expression remained flat and empty. "Gaara grows more unstable with each passing day. He's too strong to control. I can't allow him to roam the village injuring people and destroying property whenever he feels like it. I must consider the greater good."

"He's your son. How can you talk so calmly about assassinating him?"

"He is not my son," Iwao snapped. "He's Shukaku in human form. Bringing him into this world was a terrible mistake—a mistake which I now intend to rectify."

"And you want me to do it?"

"You have the option of refusing this mission. If you don't think you have the stomach for it, I'll find someone else. I want to get this right the first time. If the assassination attempt fails, it will become that much harder to catch him off guard."

Yashamaru's hands clenched. He drew in a slow, deep breath. "Kazekage-sama...I've taken care of Gaara since he was a baby. He's like my own child. To hear you speak about ending his life, as if it's nothing..."

"You don't have to put on a show for my sake, Yashamaru. I know you hate him."

Yashamaru tensed. "That's not true."

"There's no point in hiding it. I figured it out some time ago. You've been eating yourself up with guilt, haven't you? I see it in your face every time I look at you. All these years, you've been locking your hatred deep inside, trying to force yourself to love him. But you can't."

Yashamaru stared at the floor, trembling.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Iwao said. "Hate is a perfectly natural human emotion, no more evil than any other feeling. Anyone in your situation would feel the same. After all, he stole your most precious person, didn't he? And now you're forced to care for him, forced to endure the sight of him every day, to nurture and provide for the very person who robbed you of your reason for living."

Yashamaru's breathing quickened, and tears stung the corners of his eyes. "No…he…it isn't like that. Karura's death wasn't his fault. He's just a child."

"Come now, Yashamaru. Who do you think you're fooling? You can give yourself as many sermons as you want, but it won't change how you feel."

He clenched his fists. Bitter shame choked him, filled his mouth like bile. "It's true," he whispered. "I know it's wrong. I know it's unfair. But I've been resenting him all these years." Yashamaru shut his eyes to hold back the tears. "It's my fault he turned out this way. As his caretaker, I bear the responsibility for all the suffering he has caused. If I'd been more patient with him, more affectionate…"

"Nonsense. You mustn't blame yourself for the way things turned out. You did everything you could."

Everything, thought Yashamaru, except give Gaara what he needed most: love. Real, heartfelt love.

"There's no point in allotting blame now, anyway," Iwao continued. "The fact of the matter is, Gaara is a menace and a danger to the entire village. We must deal with him accordingly."

"Is it even possible to assassinate him? His sand shield protects him from all external attacks. Do you intend to use poison, or…"

"No good. I've tried that."

"When—" Yashamaru's breath caught in his throat. "The ice cream?"

"I laced it with the most potent poison I could find. If it had worked, he would have died sometime last night. I can only assume that Shukaku's presence somehow protects him or breaks down the poison before it can be absorbed into his body."

Yashamaru remembered the way Gaara's face had lit up when Iwao handed him the ice cream cone, how happy he'd been about that small token of affection from his father.

"So," said Iwao, "if we're to eliminate him, it must be an external attack."

"But there's no way to bypass that shield."

"The sand shield is fast, but it's not instantaneous. With enough speed, it's possible. And if all else fails, an explosion could penetrate it."

"I see," he whispered.

"Does this mean you accept?"

Yashamaru hesitated. "Why me? I'm a medical ninja, and a Chuunin at that. I've never assassinated anyone. Aren't there others more qualified for this job?"

"You may not be the strongest shinobi under my command, but you have one important advantage. You are Gaara's guardian. He trusts you. You can get close to him without arousing his suspicion."

Yashamaru bowed his head. Something inside him ached at the thought of killing Gaara; something else shuddered with dark pleasure. "You want me to use his trust as a weapon against him."

"We are ninja. We must use any weapons available to us."

He clenched his teeth.

_Do it, _whispered the hating thing inside him. _You want to._

_No...no, I don't want this. I never wanted it to end this way...  
_

_You're a coward. You can't even face your own feelings. Why fight it? Gaara will die regardless of what you do. If you refuse, the Kazekage will just send another in your place. This is your destiny._

Yes. It was fate, perhaps, that this job should fall to him. Regardless of what Iwao said, he knew the blame for Gaara's mental instability fell squarely on his shoulders. It was only logical that the responsibility of killing him should also fall to Yashamaru. It was a hideous, cruel task, but a necessary one. The village's safety hinged on the completion of this mission.

He would do it…but he would not use Gaara's trust against him. He would not embrace him and then slip a knife between his ribs. If he was to be an assassin, he would attack from the shadows, as an assassin should.

"I accept," he whispered.

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

He would wait until night, Yashamaru decided. Gaara always wandered alone at night. Yashamaru would follow him, catch Gaara during an unguarded moment when no one else was around.

When he returned home that morning, he tried to act normal, tried to smile so Gaara wouldn't suspect anything.

Inside, he was already dead. He could barely bring himself to look Gaara in the eye.

And still, the hating demon in his heart was dancing a jig and laughing. _Soon, _it rejoiced. _Soon, the brat will be dead, and you'll be free!_

Of course, there was a good chance that Yashamaru would die along with Gaara. But the demon within him did not even care if it died, as long as it took the object of its hatred with it.

_How did I become this? _wondered Yashamaru._ What happened to me?_

* * *

That afternoon, Gaara asked to go to the playground, so Yashamaru walked there with him, thinking that this was the last time they'd ever do something like this together. The other children ran away from him, as they always did, and once again, Gaara lost control of his powers. Yashamaru had to intervene to prevent him from injuring a young boy with his sand.

As they walked home, neither one of them spoke. Blood dripped from Yashamaru's forehead and arm where Gaara's sand had torn into him. Yashamaru wondered what would have happened if he hadn't blocked that sand with his body. Would Gaara have killed that boy?

If this sort of thing was going to keep happening, he thought, it was only a matter of time before people started dying. He could understand why the Kazekage had given the order, horrible as it was. He was only thinking about the safety of the village.

Yet the Kazekage was the one who'd implanted Shukaku in Gaara. Didn't he bear some responsibility for this, too? If Iwao had been more involved in Gaara's life, taught him how to control Shukaku, then perhaps…

Pain shot through Yashamaru's head, and he winced. His thoughts slid away from Iwao, back toward Gaara. A moment later, he couldn't recall what he'd been thinking about. It seemed important, somehow, that he remember. He tried to focus his mind, but the thoughts slipped away like sand.

* * *

After dinner that night, Yashamaru retreated to his study. He sat down to make his final report on his ward. He stared at the blank page for a long moment, then picked up a pen and began to write.

_June 16th_

_I am preparing to assassinate Gaara, my nephew, whom I raised, who trusts me with his life, who loves me. I will probably die tonight as well. My soul is forfeit._

He stared at the words until they blurred. Was he really planning to submit this to the Kazekage? Did it matter, at this point?

He opened a drawer and pulled out a folder. He kept copies of all the reports he'd submitted to Iwao over the years. Now, he shuffled through the older reports.

_Today Gaara said his first word, "Wasa-mu." I believe he was trying to say my name._

_Today Gaara took his first step. He fell almost immediately, but of course the sand caught him._

_Today I took Gaara to the playground for the first time. The other children seemed to know who he was and wouldn't go near him. Afterward he asked me why, and I didn't know what to tell him._

_Today Gaara and I made chocolate chip cookies. He ate too many and gave himself a tummy-ache, but I gave him some ginger ale and he's feeling fine now…_

_Today Gaara…_

A tear slid down the side of his nose and dripped onto the paper. With shaking hands, he slid it back into the folder.

_Why are you torturing yourself with guilt? _asked the dark thing inside him. _Your Kazekage asked you to do this. You took an oath to obey him when you became a ninja. Someone has to kill the little demon, right? Why all this anguish?_

Yashamaru slid his hands into his hair and closed his eyes. "Because he's my child," he whispered aloud. However he felt about Gaara, that much was true. Yashamaru had raised Gaara; their lives had been bound together for six years, bound with a thousand overlapping threads of love and hatred.

He could still refuse. He still had that option. But if he didn't do this, the Kazekage would just send someone else in his stead. Refusing this job and letting someone else do the dirty work would be more cowardly and dishonest than going through with it, in the end.

He'd made his decision. No turning back.

* * *

That night, he stood on a shadow-smothered rooftop, his heart pounding, his mouth dry.

Gaara sat on the edge of the roof, his back to Yashamaru, staring down at the city. He looked small and defenseless, but of course, it was an illusion. Sand rippled and slithered across the rooftop. Was it the wind, or Shukaku? Either way, the sand would leap to Gaara's defense in a split second. Killing him would not be easy.

Yashamaru pressed a hand to his chest, and the paper bombs crinkled beneath his jacket. They covered his entire torso—a last resort to use in case his other attacks failed, which they probably would. When he ignited the bombs, the explosion would be enough to take out even Gaara's sand shield…according to the Kazekage, anyway. Of course, Yashamaru would also be blown to bits.

Just as well. He could never live with himself after this. To betray a child who trusted him, an innocent boy…

_He's no innocent, _whispered the dark thing. _He killed Karura. He's injured countless others. Remember that girl whose legs he crushed two years ago? She's still hobbling around on crutches. Because of that boy—that one, right there._

But that had been an accident. Gaara still felt awful about it. He'd cried so hard, night after night…

_So what? He's cried enough tears to irrigate the whole bloody desert, but what good does that do anyone? Do tears heal wounds or bring back the dead?_

Of course not, but still…Gaara hadn't asked for such fearsome powers. He hadn't asked for any of this.

_He stole your happiness. Why should he have any for himself? Why should he live while you've been dying inside all these years?_

The hatred stirred and writhed within Yashamaru's heart like a nest of snakes.

_Yes. It's only natural for you to hate him. Why fight it anymore? This is your destiny._

But Gaara had already suffered so much. For him to die at the hand of the only person who'd ever showed him kindness would be so cruel, so unfair.

_What of it? The world is cruel and unfair. Losing your sister—that wasn't fair, was it? Nothing about your life has been fair. Why should his be any different? Let him suffer as you have suffered._

And it would feel so good to just stop pretending, to let the ugly truth spill out into the open. It would be such a relief. They would die together, he and Gaara, and all their pain would be ended. No more forced smiles. No more guilt. No more anger or sadness.

Yashamaru reached for the pouch at his belt and opened it. His fingers curled around the handle of a kunai.

Then the sound of sobs drifted toward him on the wind, and he froze. Gaara was crying, his small shoulders shaking, his face buried in his hands.

_Now! _hissed the voice in his heart. _Kill him!_

But Yashamaru didn't move. He stood, staring at Gaara's back. A memory tickled the edge of his mind: Iwao sitting at a desk, moving shogi pieces on a board. The Kazekage sometimes played shogi against himself, claiming there was no one in the village skilled enough to challenge him. Yashamaru had played him a few times in the past and was always defeated swiftly. Iwao played with a ruthless, calculating precision, sacrificing pawns as needed.

But why was he remembering this now?

An uncomfortable pressure swelled behind Yashamaru's eyes. He ignored it.

Iwao had arranged all this. He'd probably planned for this possibility even before Gaara's birth. Gaara and Yashamaru were expendable pawns to him, just as Karura had been.

Somehow, thinking about those things made his head hurt. A dark fog slipped across the mental image, and he felt his thoughts being pulled back toward Gaara, like iron filings to a magnet.

_What are you waiting for? Kill him! Now is your chance!_

Again, Yashamaru reached for the kunai. It would be so easy to submerge himself in the hatred, to let it take control. But he stopped himself. His hand trembled, fingertips barely brushing the kunai's hilt. He clenched his fist.

_Kill him NOW!_

He pulled the kunai from his pouch, his hands shaking.

Again, he remembered Iwao moving shogi pieces on the board. That man—that man had used his own wife and son as an experiment. For the sake of power, he…

A shooting pain ripped through Yashamaru's skull, and stars burst behind his eyeballs. He gasped and clutched his head with one hand. The pain roared and raged, trying to distract him. Somehow, he felt that everything came down to this choice—the choice to relax his mind and let his emotions take over, or to fight the hatred and force his thoughts to focus.

He pushed through the pain, pushed past it. Something creaked, broke and shattered inside his head, and realization flooded his mind like bright light.

Gaara had not taken his sister from him. _He _had: Iwao, the Kazekage, the man who'd chosen her as the vessel to bear the Jinchuuriki. How had he never understood until now? How could he have been so blind?

_I can't do this._

_I won't._

_I won't!  
_

The kunai slipped from his fingers and clattered to the rooftop.

Gaara gave a start and looked over one shoulder, his dark-ringed eyes huge in his pale face. "Who's there?"

Yashamaru took a deep, shaky breath and tried to collect his thoughts. "It's just me." He pulled down the mask covering his face and stepped forward, out of the shadows. In the clear moonlight, he studied Gaara's face. _He's just a little boy, _Yashamaru thought, astonished. There was nothing repulsive or demonic about him.

Of course he'd told himself that very thing over and over for six years, but somehow, in that moment, his heart finally believed it. He blinked, dazed, and wondered why he felt this way—as if he were awakening from a long, dark dream.

"Yashamaru?" Gaara faced him. "What are you doing up here?"

"N-nothing. I wondered where you were, so I came looking for you." He approached and crouched so he was at eye-level with Gaara. "Are you all right? I heard you crying."

"Oh…" Gaara lowered his gaze. "It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

Gaara hesitated. "I tried taking ointment to that boy I hurt. I wanted to make it up to him somehow, but…it didn't turn out well. He called me a monster and told me to go home. I guess just saying sorry doesn't change anything, does it?" Fresh tears welled in his eyes.

"Gaara-sama..."

"I don't know what to do, Yashamaru." Tears spilled down his cheeks, wet trails shining in the moonlight. "Everyone is right about me. I'm a monster."

Yashamaru's chest tightened as he looked into those big green eyes. "That's not true."

"All I can do is hurt people. I wish I was never born. I want to die, but I can't even do that. The sand stops me."

Yashamaru took a deep breath. "Listen to me," he said quietly. "I know that living can seem painful and unbearable at times. There've been times in my life when I felt like dying, too. But life is a precious thing, and far too short as it is. And once you throw it away, you never get it back."

Gaara clutched his heart. "It hurts so much. I just want it to stop." His fingers tightened on his shirt, squeezing his chest. "And I know you'll be happier if I'm gone, too."

"That isn't true." Yashamaru gently moved Gaara's hand from his chest and replaced it with his own. He could feel Gaara's heart beating against his palm as he looked into those wet, red-rimmed eyes. "I know it hurts. I know. I have wounds in my heart, too. It's a terrible pain to live with. And…there's something else you should know about that kind of wound. When your heart's been injured, it becomes more difficult to open yourself up to love—the very thing that might help you—because you're afraid of being hurt even more. Do you understand?"

"I don't know."

"When it hurts here…" He lay a hand over his own heart. "You tend to shut your feelings away. You feel you can't trust others, so you don't let anyone else into your heart. It's been that way for me since Karura's death. If I haven't always been as kind to you as I should be, that's why. It's not your fault. It's because I'm hurt inside, like you."

"You…you are?"

He nodded. "Your mother—my sister—was my best friend. And a very special person." A lump rose into his throat. "She understood me when no one else did. When I was sad, she could make me smile. When I doubted myself, she went on believing in me. When she died, it felt like my whole world collapsed."

"I'm sorry," Gaara said quietly. He looked down. "I'm the reason she's dead, aren't I?"

"No, Gaara. You aren't the one who took her from me. It's just…after losing her, it's hard for me to love anyone again. Because I'm afraid of losing another precious person. But I want you to know…if you died, I would miss you very much."

"You would?" he asked in a small voice.

Yashamaru nodded. "So please hold on. All right?"

Gaara sniffled and wiped tears from his cheeks. "Okay."

Yashamaru opened his arms.

Gaara's eyes widened a little. He crept forward, cautiously, as if fearing it might be a trap. Then he stepped into the circle of Yashamaru's arms and rested his head against his chest. Yashamaru hugged him close.

Until this moment, he'd never been able to touch Gaara without feeling the sting of hatred; even the slightest physical contact had made his skin crawl as if covered with spiders. Yet now, somehow, he could hold him. What had happened? What had changed?

Gaara hid his face against Yashamaru's shoulder, then stood on tiptoe and put his little arms around his neck. A warm sensation filled Yashamaru's chest, and his breath caught in his throat. Could it be…?

Love. The very thing he'd hoped and prayed to feel for six years. Somehow—he didn't understand it, but somehow his hatred had been replaced with love. Was it possible for a human heart to change so quickly? He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of gratitude. "I know you're a good person," Yashamaru whispered into Gaara's ear. "I've seen how sad you become whenever you've hurt someone. A monster is someone who deliberately hurts and uses others without caring how they might feel. You aren't like that. You have a gentle heart, Gaara-sama."

"Yashamaru…" Gaara's chest hitched, and his arms tightened around him.

Yashamaru held him a moment longer, then pulled back and brushed the tears from his cheeks. A pink flush rose into Gaara's face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just…" He lowered his gaze shyly. "You've never hugged me before."

"Never? Surely I've done it a few times."

"I mean…sometimes if I hugged you, you would hug me back, but it always seemed like you didn't want to. You never held out your arms for me like that."

"I should do it more often, then." He stood and took Gaara's hand. "Let's go home."

Gaara nodded. He held Yashamaru's hand tightly as they walked down the stairs leading from the rooftop, to the street below. Yashamaru glanced down at Gaara, and his heart clenched in a spasm of pain. He'd come within an inch of doing something horrible, something unforgivable. Thank heaven he'd come to his senses in time.

But now he'd have to explain to the Kazekage that Gaara was still alive, that he hadn't gone through with the mission. The Kazekage was not a man who tolerated failure.

How would he react?

-To be continued

* * *

AN: So...as you've probably figured out, the story is going to be AU from this point on. Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed so far. ^_^


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Kazekage-sama, but I needed to speak with you at once."

Iwao looked up from a scroll he was examining. "Have you killed him?"

Yashamaru hesitated. "No."

"Then what is the meaning of this? I told you not to come back until you'd completed your mission."

"I have a request."

Iwao sighed. "Spit it out."

Yashamaru took a deep breath, keeping his gaze downcast. Hopefully Iwao would think he was being respectful. In reality, he was trying to hide the rage in his eyes. _This man…this man killed Karura. _How had he never realized that? Why had he spent six years resenting little Gaara when his true enemy had been right in front of his nose the whole time? "I want you to give Gaara another chance."

"_What?"_

"Please. I can help him. I _know _I can. I've been doing some research. I think I can develop a Jutsu to calm him when he loses control of his powers. It's really very simple. Gaara's only dangerous when he's upset or angry, so if I can just help him keep his emotions under control…"

"Not good enough. You can't guarantee that it will work."

"Won't you at least give me a chance?"

Iwao made a sound of scorn in his throat. "I should have known better than to entrust this mission to you. You've always been weak. Soft. Like her."

Yashamaru's shoulders tensed. "Like who?" he said, his voice low and cold.

But Iwao didn't seem to hear him. "Never mind. You didn't tell him anything, did you? About my orders?"

"No, of course not. I—"

"Good. No harm done, then. I'll overlook this failing and send someone else."

Yashamaru's chest tightened. "I beg you, just give me another month. Another week. Let me help him."

"Request denied. I've made my decision. Gaara must die. I warn you, if you try to interfere, you will die alongside him. This village will never be safe as long as he's here."

"Then I'll take him somewhere else. We'll go somewhere isolated, just the two of us, until he's learned to control his powers."

"Take him outside the village? Are you mad? Do you think I'd allow that? You're not strong enough to control him. What if he fell into our enemies' hands? They could use him against us."

Yashamaru glared at him, unable to mask his fury any longer. "You just can't stand the idea of not having him under your control."

"What's gotten into you?"

"This is my nephew we're talking about—_your son—_and you're so eager to kill him, you won't even consider alternatives!"

"You have overstepped your bounds," Iwao snapped. "This is _my _village and _my _decision. I don't need to discuss it with anyone, and I especially don't need some underling coming up with harebrained ideas and expecting me to take them seriously. Dismissed."

"But…"

"Dismissed!"

Yashamaru gritted his teeth and bowed his head, his heart smoldering with anger. "Yes, Kazekage." He turned and walked out of the room.

Coming here had been a mistake; he should have known the Kazekage would not be willing to reconsider. Now Iwao would be suspicious of him.

He had to act quickly. Iwao would not waste any time in sending another assassin. But Yashamaru had made up his mind: he would not let Gaara be killed. The image of Gaara's wide, sea-green eyes flashed through his mind. _I'll protect you, _he thought. He would take Gaara away from this place, away from Iwao.

As to where they'd go, well…he'd figure that out later.

* * *

Yashamaru opened the door to Gaara's bedroom. "Gaara-sama?"

Gaara sat on the edge of his bed in fuzzy blue pajamas. He clutched his teddy bear, head drooping as he drifted in and out of the light, restless doze that took the place of sleep for him.

Yashamaru gently shook his shoulder.

He stirred and blinked, his eyes slowly focusing. "Yashamaru," he murmured, and rubbed his eyes with one fist. "What is it?"

"We have to go."

"Go? Where?"

"Away. We have to leave Sunagakure. This place isn't safe for you anymore. Get dressed and gather your things."

Gaara's eyes widened. "What's happening?"

"There's no time. You just have to trust me. I'll explain everything to you later. Here." He handed an empty pack to Gaara. "Grab as many clothes as you can fit, and anything else you want to take with you."

Gaara clutched his teddy bear to his chest. "But..."

"Please, Gaara. Please just trust me." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. How could he ask Gaara to trust him when he'd come so close to killing him just a short while ago? But he had no choice now. They might have only an hour or two to escape. Perhaps less.

Yashamaru grabbed another pack, went into the other room and began shoving things in as quickly as he could: food pills, water bags, a folded up blanket, a flashlight. He counted the money in his wallet. Not a lot, but enough to last them for a little while if they were careful.

He slung the pack over his shoulder, then went into the bedroom to see Gaara standing there, dressed and ready, his pack on his shoulders. Wide, anxious eyes searched Yashamaru's face. "What should we do?"

"We must leave the village very quickly and quietly. I'm going to need your help to get past the guards at the front gates. I need you to restrain them with sand, but without hurting them, if possible. Can you do that?"

"I…I'll try."

"Good." Yashamaru forced a smile, trying to hide his fear. Then he took Gaara's hand and led him out of the room. He slipped into his cloak, pulled the hood over his head and a veil across his mouth, then grabbed Gaara's smaller cloak and handed it to him. "Put this on and keep the hood up."

Gaara obeyed. Yashamaru took his hand again. They walked out of the house together. Yashamaru glanced from side to side, making sure the streets were empty, then he picked up Gaara and hoisted him onto his shoulders. "Here, I'll carry you. We'll move faster this way."

Gaara clung to him. "Yashamaru, I don't understand why we're doing this. I'm scared."

"Don't be afraid. Whatever happens, the sand will protect you. And so will I. Hold on." Yashamaru ran down the street, swift and silent.

The back of his neck prickled a warning, and he looked up to see a dark shape crouched on a nearby rooftop. The figure raised a crossbow, aiming for Gaara. He fired…

And a wall of sand leaped up, deflecting the bolt.

Gaara cried out and gripped Yashamaru's shoulders tighter. A barrage of kunai flew at them from the east, a rain of arrows from the west. Sand whirled around them, batting away the hail of weapons like a giant cat's paw.

Yashamaru clenched his teeth. Weapons were coming at them from all directions, which meant the Kazekage had sent not one, but several assassins. He was taking no chances.

Gaara's face contorted in rage, and his eyes went cold and hard, a look Yashamaru had learned to recognize. The sweet little boy was gone, and in his place was…something else. Something that wanted blood. Gaara raised one hand and clenched his small fingers into a fist, and the sand mimicked his movements. Huge, gritty fingers reached across the sky and closed around the first assassin. There was a wet crunch, and blood sprayed through the air.

More kunai flew at them, and the sand leaped to their defense, blocking the weapons. Gaara swept out his arm and clenched his fist again. Bones cracked and blood fell like black rain.

A clattering, clicking noise filled the air, and a four-legged shape leaped in front of them: a wooden dragon with a narrow, wedge-shaped head and a long segmented body. The puppet reared on its hind legs, round eyes glowing green. Its hinged jaw fell open and belched fire. Yashamaru leaped backwards, narrowly avoiding the flame. The heat scorched his cheeks, singed his eyelashes.

Sand fingers curled around the puppet and crushed it. The sand dissolved, and the puppet dropped to the ground, a heap of splintered wood. A shadowy, veiled figure leaped out from behind a building, hands splayed, fingers wiggling in an intricate dance. Two smaller, bat-like puppets flew at Gaara, sharp metal teeth gleaming. A wave of sand buried them along with their puppeteer. The sand slid away, leaving the puppeteer motionless and broken on the street.

Yashamaru's breath hissed in through his teeth. _Could it be…_ Not Kankurou, surely. Even the Kazekage wouldn't be cold-blooded enough to send one son to assassinate another. It might be better not to know, but he had to find out. He approached and yanked the mask off the corpse's face.

"Chiyo-baa-san?" Gaara said in a small voice.

The old woman lay, eyes half-open and glazed with death, blood trickling from her mouth.

Gaara began to tremble. "Why would Chiyo-baa-san want to kill me?"

"I don't think she wanted to." Yashamaru's heart ached. Chiyo was supposed to be retired—she'd been old and in frail health—but that hadn't stopped Iwao from using her. Did human lives mean nothing to him? "She was probably ordered to do this."

Gaara gripped Yashamaru's hood tightly. "But then…that means…"

"Don't think about it right now." Yashamaru kept running. Sweat trickled down his sides and back. "Just hold on. We're almost there."

He ran until they came to the edge of the village, where the walls towered. The front gate was the only way out, but it was guarded by two Jounin. They stood, faces hooded and veiled, arms crossed over their chests.

Yashamaru hid behind a wall and peered out at them. He looked up at Gaara. "Are you ready?"

Gaara didn't reply; just clung to Yashamaru, trembling. He stared into the darkness, biting his knuckles.

"Gaara-sama!" he whispered sharply.

Gaara looked down with a dazed expression. Then he blinked, and his eyes slowly focused.

"I need you to restrain the guards, remember? While you hold them, I'll carry us over the gates. But try to keep them restrained as long as you can. Otherwise, they'll chase us. Understand?"

Gaara gulped and nodded.

"All right," Yashamaru whispered. "Ready—set—go!" Yashamaru charged toward the guards.

They reached for their kunai, but at that moment, the sand around them rustled and reared up. The guards cried out in surprise as the sand wrapped around them like a pair of giant hands. "Good work, Gaara-sama! Now hold on tight!" Yashamaru ran toward the gates, then up them, focusing the chakra into the soles of his feet. Gaara cried out in surprise and flung his arms around Yashamaru's neck as he ran straight up the gates, over the wall and down again, to the sand below.

The desert stretched for miles in every direction, a sea of rippling dunes, ghostly silver in the moonlight. Overhead, the stars shone, bright pinpricks in the blue-black sky. Yashamaru kept running, holding Gaara tightly by the ankles as he bounded over the dunes. His mind whirled at the enormity of what he was doing. He had disobeyed his Kazekage, deserted his village, and stolen Sunagakure's Jinchuuriki. He and Gaara were fugitives now.

And yet he felt…relieved. Almost happy.

His legs propelled him across the desert, faster and harder than he'd ever run in his life. He needed to put as much distance between them and the village as possible. There was no telling how long the sand would hold those guards.

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Anyone still reading this? Review and let me know. ^_^

* * *

For most of the night, Yashamaru kept running without slackening his pace. As the soft, rosy glow of dawn touched the horizon, exhaustion finally forced him to slow to a walk. The sun climbed higher in the sky, spilling golden light across the dunes. Ahead, he spotted a rocky cliff with a small hollow at its base. It couldn't quite be called a cave—it wasn't deep enough—but it would give them some shelter from the sun and wind, at least.

"Let's rest here," said Yashamaru, and set Gaara down inside the hollow. He sat down on the shade-cooled rock, pulled down his hood and veil and shook out his sweat-damp hair. He looked at Gaara, who sat motionless, staring glazed-eyed into space. "Gaara?" Yashamaru patted his cheek, and Gaara gave a start.

He blinked, and his eyes slowly focused. "Sorry," he murmured. "I…I keep remembering…" His mouth trembled. "I thought I was going to die back there. All those weapons coming at us, and the fire…it scared me."

"It's all right. We're safe." For now, anyway. "Are you thirsty?"

Gaara nodded, and Yashamaru handed him a water bag. Gaara took a long gulp and licked the moisture from his lips. He gazed out at the desert, now dun-colored beneath the blazing blue sky. "I've never been outside the village before," he murmured. "The desert is so big."

"Yes. It is."

For a moment, Gaara sat in silence, hugging his knees to his chest and staring out at the sky. Then he looked up. "Yashamaru…we aren't going back, are we?"

Yashamaru hesitated, then decided there was no point in lying to Gaara. He'd done enough of that for a lifetime. "No, we can't go back to the village anymore. If we do, more people will try to hurt you."

"But why?" His smooth, hairless brows wrinkled, and he hugged his knees tighter. "Why is all this happening?"

Yashamaru took a deep breath. He wondered if he should wait until tomorrow before saying anything. Gaara had had more than enough shock for one day. But he'd have to find out at some point. Maybe it was better to get it over with. "Gaara…the Kazekage sent those assassins after you."

Gaara's eyes widened. "Father did?"

Yashamaru nodded.

Gaara clutched his heart. His breathing quickened, then he doubled over and pressed a hand to his mouth. Small, choked sounds escaped him, as if he were fighting back the urge to vomit.

Yashamaru lay a hand on his back and rubbed gently as he waited for Gaara to regain control of himself.

"Why?" he whispered at last. "Why does Father want to kill me?"

"He thinks you're too dangerous to be allowed to live. Because of your powers. I'm sorry, Gaara. I tried to talk him out of it, but he won't be swayed. I knew I had to get you out of the village as quickly as possible."

Gaara stared at the ground, still clutching his chest, his shoulders shaking. Then, slowly, he looked up, his face stained with tears. "You…you'll be in trouble if they find us. Won't you?"

"Maybe," Yashamaru said quietly, but he knew there was no doubt about it. He was a traitor now. If they were ever found, he'd be executed.

"Then why? Why did you help me?"

"Because if I hadn't, I'd never be able to live with myself. That man has already taken Karura from me. I won't let him take you, too. I'll protect you no matter what happens." He smiled through his fatigue and pain. "You're my most important person, after all."

Gaara stared up at him, his eyes shining with tears. "Yashamaru!" he cried, then flung his arms around him and hugged him tight.

Yashamaru tensed in surprise. Then, slowly, he relaxed, slipped his arms around Gaara and hugged him back. He could feel Gaara's little heart beating hard and fast against his. "It's all right. I'm here."

"Yashamaru…" He began to cry. "For me…" He hiccupped. "For me, you…"

He stroked Gaara's soft hair. He had pretended to care about Gaara for so long, it had become a habit…but now, he found, he wasn't pretending anymore. His heart burned with a fierce desire to protect this child in his arms…not just because it was Karura's child, but because it was Gaara—the gentle, inquisitive little boy who struggled so hard to win the acceptance of the villagers, to understand others' pain—the boy who'd held onto his humanity even as Shukaku tried to claw it out from under him, and whose rare, fleeting smiles could light up the darkest desert night.

He thought about how close he'd come to betraying his nephew, and his throat tightened. Even if the attempt had failed—even if Gaara had lived—the experience would have shattered his mind and heart beyond all repair. Yashamaru hugged him tighter. "Gaara," he whispered, "can you ever forgive me?"

Gaara looked up at him. "For what?"

"I almost did something terrible. I…I can't tell you what it is. I don't have the courage. Because…if you knew, you would hate me."

"I don't understand," Gaara said in a small voice.

"I'm a weak person, Gaara. I find it difficult to resist my feelings…even when I know they're wrong. I…" He bowed his head, trembling. "Never mind. I guess it's silly to ask for forgiveness and not tell you why."

Small, warm fingers touched his cheek, and he looked up. Gaara smiled through his tears. "It's okay. Whatever it is, I forgive you."

"Gaara…"

Gaara kissed his cheek, the softest touch, like the brush of a butterfly's wing. "You're always nice to me. Even when I do bad things, even when I hurt you, you never yell at me or call me a monster. You're my favorite person in the whole world. I could never hate you."

Yashamaru looked into those trusting, adoring eyes, and shame burned his heart like acid. _I'm not worthy of your trust. _He held Gaara's head to his chest, rested his chin atop that mop of red hair and closed his eyes.

* * *

Iwao stared at the Jounin guard who stood before him. "What did you say?"

"Gaara is missing," said the Jounin. "So is Yashamaru. They fled the village last night. Also, there are four corpses in the streets. It looks as though they were crushed to death. I can only assume it's Gaara's handiwork."

"Why the hell didn't you report this to me sooner?"

"Forgive me. Both my partner and I were encased in sand until a few minutes ago. I came here as soon as I could."

"Damn it!" Iwao swept his arm across the desk, knocking stacks of papers and scrolls to the floor. He slammed a fist into the wall, leaving a deep hole. He turned to the Jounin. "What are you standing around for? Alert all the guards. Send out a search party. Release the hawks and have them scan the desert. Question the locals in all the nearest towns. They have to be found!"

"Yes, Kazekage-sama." He turned and walked out of the room.

Iwao slammed a fist into the wall again. An image of Yashamaru's face flashed through his mind. "Damn it," he whispered. "You treacherous weasel. When I get my hands on you, I'm going to skin you alive."

He'd never fully trusted Yashamaru…but even so, he'd never imagined that meek little Chuunin would have the balls to pull something like this. What the hell was he planning?

Iwao strode to the window and stared at the village. He lay a hand on the glass, then slowly clenched the hand into a fist.

He should have foreseen this. He remembered Karura's funeral. He remembered the moment when—as they lowered her shroud-wrapped body into the ground—he'd glanced over at Yashamaru and seen the man looking at him with the coldest, most hate-filled expression he'd ever seen.

Yashamaru had always been pathetically devoted to his sister, to the point of idol worship. It was natural, perhaps, that he'd despise the man who ordered Shukaku to be implanted in her child, killing her in the process. But he'd taken care of that…or so he'd thought.

"I should have just had him killed," he muttered. Sparing him had been a mistake.

He intended to rectify that mistake.

* * *

Weary though he was, Yashamaru knew that he and Gaara couldn't afford to rest for long. They ate a few food pills as they huddled in the meager shade, then set off again, Yashamaru running across the desert with Gaara riding on his back. The hot sun baked down on them. Sweat dripped from Yashamaru's face and neck, and he thought nervously about their dwindling water supply. He wished he'd taken a map. He knew roughly where the nearest town was, but here in the desert, where things looked the same in every direction, one could wander for weeks on end without finding any trace of civilization.

The sun sank into the western sky, and twilight spread like a cool, blue blanket across the sands. As the last hint of daylight faded, Yashamaru spotted a looming wall on the horizon. He pointed. "There it is. We can spend the night in this town."

He would have preferred to avoid civilization altogether—the fewer people saw them, the better—but the wind was picking up, and he felt a storm brewing in his bones. Being caught out in the middle of the desert in a sandstorm would be disastrous…but hopefully the weather would buy them some time. Their pursuers, too, would be forced to seek shelter and wait it out.

They approached the town. Though walled, it was not a ninja village, so there were no guards at the gate. They walked in.

Yashamaru lifted Gaara off his shoulders and set him on the street. Then he took his hand, and they began to walk.

There wasn't much to see. The buildings were all a drab yellowish brown, the same color as the sand around them, with tiny, round windows. Yashamaru spotted a vendor with a row of hide water-bags hanging from her cart. "Let's buy some water," said Yashamaru, "then we'll find an inn. All right?"

Gaara nodded.

Yashamaru walked up to the cart. "Two large bags of water, please."

"Certainly," said the woman, and pulled down two bags. She glanced at Gaara, who stood close to Yashamaru, clinging tightly to his hand. "Is that your son?"

"Yes."

"He's adorable." The woman leaned down. "What's your name, little boy?"

"His name is Kenji," Yashamaru said quickly.

"Hello, Kenji."

Gaara stared at the woman, wide-eyed. He wasn't used to being spoken to by strangers, or by anyone at all except Yashamaru. Now, he clung to Yashamaru's pant leg and looked up at him uncertainly, as if asking what he should say or do. Yashamaru lay a hand on his head and ruffled his hair. "He's a little shy."

"That's all right." She smiled, accepted Yashamaru's money and handed him the two water bags. "I just love children. I have three of my own. Is he your first?"

"Yes," said Yashamaru, wishing this conversation would end. He didn't want to be remembered by anyone, and the more words they exchanged with this woman, the more likely she'd be to recall them if Iwao's search party questioned her later.

"I see you've kept your slim figure. I wasn't so lucky." The woman chuckled and patted her protruding stomach. She looked down at Gaara, who was still hiding behind Yashamaru's legs, peering up at her with wide green eyes. "And where are you and your mama traveling, Kenji?"

_Mama? _thought Yashamaru, then realized--the vendor had mistaken him for a woman. It wouldn't be the first time. With his pretty features and gentle, soft-spoken demeanor, people who didn't know him sometimes assumed he was just a girl with a deep voice. In this case, it might be a good thing. Their pursuers would be looking for a man and a boy, not a mother and her son.

Yashamaru met the woman's gaze and forced a smile. "Forgive me, but we've been traveling for a long time and we're both very tired. Is there an inn around here?"

"Right down the street." She pointed. "I'd hurry, if I were you. There's a storm brewing. I'm about to pack up and go home for the night, as well."

"Thank you." Yashamaru walked down the street, the water bags slung over one shoulder. He scanned the shops, looking for a general store.

"She wasn't afraid of me," Gaara said, a note of wonder in his soft voice. He looked up. "Why did you call me by another name?"

"We shouldn't let anyone know who we are. For awhile, it might be better if we didn't use our real names, at least not in front of other people. So I'm going to call you Kenji, and you call me Mother. All right?"

Gaara's brow furrowed. "But you're a boy. Can a boy be somebody's mother?"

"Not exactly, but if I'm careful, people won't know I'm a boy." When he had a chance, he'd alter his appearance a bit, just to be safe. Perhaps a simple Genjutsu, or a Transformation Jutsu...he'd work out the details later. He spotted a general store and went in. With his dwindling funds, he bought some extra food pills and a few other items.

Gaara pointed at a box of frosted cinnamon rolls on the shelf. "Yasha--I mean, Mother, can we get those?"

Yashamaru hesitated. He knew they should try to conserve their money. But Gaara was looking at them so longingly, and after all he'd been through in the past day, he deserved a little something. "All right." He picked up the box and smiled. "We'll have them for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

They paid, left the store and walked to the inn across the street.

* * *

"You're in luck," the innkeeper told them. "There's one room vacant. It's on the small side, but…"

"We'll take it. We just need a place to stay until the storm blows over."

"All right, then, that'll be one thousand yen." He held out a room key.

Yashamaru gave the innkeeper the last of his money, accepted the key and led Gaara up the stairs to the second floor. He unlocked the door to their room, which was indeed tiny: scarcely larger than a walk-in closet. There was a bed, a small table with a lamp and an adjoining bathroom with a toilet, sink and nothing else.

Yashamaru lay his pack and water bags down and rubbed one sore shoulder. His muscles burned with fatigue. "We'll have to share a bed," he said.

"That's okay." Gaara sat on the edge of the bed and took his shoes off. "I don't sleep, anyway."

"I know. But it's still good for you to rest. Did you bring your pajamas?"

Gaara nodded, rummaged through his pack and pulled out his pajamas and teddy bear, along with something else—something hard and rectangular. Yashamaru took a step closer and saw that it was the framed picture of Karura. Gaara stared at it a moment, then stood it on the table next to his bed.

Yashamaru sat next to him. "I didn't realize you'd brought that with."

"I didn't want to just leave it. It's the only picture I have of her." He gazed at the smiling face behind the glass. A soft gurgle broke the silence, and Gaara pressed a hand to his stomach.

"Hungry?"

He nodded.

"Here." He pulled a box of food pills out of his pack, gave one to Gaara, then took one himself.

Gaara inspected the tangerine-sized, brownish ball, took a bite and grimaced. "What _are _these things, anyway?"

"Food pills. Not very tasty, but they're cheap and nutritious and they'll keep you full for a long time. That's why ninja eat these while they're traveling."

Gaara swallowed the rest of the pill. "I like the dumplings you make better."

"As soon as we find a place to stay, I'll make those again for you. I promise. Now, change into your pajamas and brush your teeth. We need to get plenty of rest if we want to get an early start tomorrow."

Gaara took his pajamas and toothbrush and went into the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, clad from toe to neck in fuzzy blue cotton, and climbed into the bed. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, clutching the teddy bear to his chest. Yashamaru climbed in beside him and pulled the covers up to his neck.

Outside, the wind howled and rattled the windowpane. Yashamaru's eyelids sank shut. Within minutes, exhaustion pulled him down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

A soft whimper stirred Yashamaru from his dreams. He blinked and raised his head. "Gaara?"

Gaara sat on the foot of the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, his back to Yashamaru, his hands pressed to his ears. "No," he whispered. "Go away. Leave me alone."

A chill rippled down Yashamaru's spine. Somehow, he got the feeling Gaara wasn't talking to him. "Are you all right?"

Gaara looked over his shoulder, his face streaked with tears. "Y-Yashamaru…" He wiped the tears from his cheeks with small, trembling fists. "I'm sorry. I—I didn't mean to wake you."

"Never mind that. What's wrong?"

Gaara hesitated. "It's him," he whispered. "He's talking to me."

"Shukaku?"

Gaara nodded and stared at the floor, gripping his knees.

Yashamaru sat up and scooted closer. "What does he say to you?"

Gaara closed his eyes. "He…" He gulped. "He says that it's stupid for me to want love. That everyone hates me, so I should hate them back. He wants me to do bad things. I keep telling him no, but he won't stop. He…" Gaara's breathing quickened. He pressed his hands to his temples and shut his eyes. "No," he whispered. "That isn't true."

Yashamaru pulled Gaara into his arms. "It's all right," he murmured and smoothed his hair. "He can't hurt you or force you to do anything you don't want to. He'll stop talking after awhile. He always does, right? Just ignore him."

"I try. But it's hard. He knows what I'm thinking and feeling, and he uses it. He…he says that I'm a murderer."

"You're not a murderer. You killed those assassins in self-defense. You had no choice."

"I killed someone else," he whispered.

Yashamaru tensed. "When?"

"The night you found me on the rooftop. Before I went up there, I…" His voice shook. "I was walking in the street and a man bumped into me. When he saw who I was, he…he looked at me like I was some kind of awful monster. I was so upset. I didn't even think, the sand just…and I didn't _mean _to, but..." Gaara's chest hitched, and he let out a choked sob. "He…Shukaku said you would hate me if I told you."

Yashamaru took a deep breath, steadying himself. He was shaking.

"Do you hate me?"

"No. No. I don't hate you. I—I know you didn't do that on purpose." He couldn't allow that sort of thing to happen again, though. He needed to figure out some way to get Gaara's powers under control. If only he'd had a little more time to research that new jutsu…

"Yashamaru? Please say something."

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking." Yashamaru paused. "How often does he speak to you?"

"All the time."

"Really?" Yashamaru's heartbeat quickened. He and Gaara didn't usually talk about Shukaku. He sometimes overheard Gaara muttering under his breath, as if conversing with an invisible person, but he'd never imagined… "_All _the time?"

"He's always whispering in the back of my head. During the day, when there are other things to think about, it's not so bad. I can shut it out. But at night, when I'm alone, that's hard to do."

"Do you want me to keep talking to you? Does that help at all?"

Gaara nodded.

Yashamaru smoothed his hair. What was it like for him, having to resist that inner voice all day, every day, without even the refuge of sleep? Shukaku was always there, chipping away at Gaara's will, urging him to release his anger and pain in a bloodbath. It was a wonder Gaara had lasted this long. _You're so strong, little one. I never realized. _"I wish I'd brought our story. I could read you another chapter."

"I wanted to find out how it ended," Gaara murmured.

"Well, I've read it before. I could tell you the rest from memory."

"Could you?"

He nodded. "Let's see…where did we leave off?"

"Ryo was at the wizard's castle."

"Ah, yes. Well, Ryo knew he had to sneak in somehow. So he turned himself into a mouse using his new skill and wriggled in under the door…"

Gaara listened. Slowly, the lines of tension smoothed from his face, and his muscles relaxed. He nestled against Yashamaru's side and gazed up at him as Yashamaru told the rest of the story, inventing details to fill the gaps in his memory.

Outside, the wind howled and battered the walls. The glass shook, and Gaara held him a little tighter as Yashamaru drew the story to a close: "And so with the kingdom safe once again, they went back to Ryo's home village, where they lived happily together for a very long time. And their children passed on the story of their adventures to their own children, who passed it on to their children, on and on through each generation. And so it will be forever and ever."

"What happened next?"

Yashamaru chuckled. "After forever and ever? That's the end of that particular story, I'm afraid."

Gaara yawned and snuggled against his shoulder. "Will you tell me another?"

"I don't have any to read right now, and I'm not very good at making up stories."

"I just like hearing your voice. When you're talking, I don't hear him so much."

"Well…maybe I could sing something to you?"

"Okay."

Yashamaru found himself thinking back to when he was small, soon after he and Karura had lost their parents. When he couldn't sleep, when he woke crying and calling out for his mother and father, she held him and sang a lullaby to him. He tried to remember how it had gone. Most of the words were lost to him now, but he remembered the tune…so he hummed it now, softly, into Gaara's ear.

Gaara's eyes slipped shut. "That's nice," he whispered. "What is it?"

"Your mother sang that to me when I was about your age. I don't know what it's called, but it's a pretty melody, isn't it?" He smoothed Gaara's hair. "Are you feeling any better?"

He nodded.

"That's good."

Gaara was silent a moment. Then he asked softly, "Will you hold me a little longer?"

"All night, if you like."

"Thank you." He reached up with one hand, curled his fingers into Yashamaru's hair and rested his head on his shoulder. "You don't call me Gaara-sama anymore," he murmured. "Now you just call me Gaara."

"Do you want to be called Gaara-sama?"

"No. I like this better. I just wondered why."

"Well, you're family, after all. I've known you since you were a baby. It seems a little strange, calling you by an honorific. I guess I just realized that. Besides…" He smiled. "Gaara is a perfectly nice name on its own."

"What does my name mean, Yashamaru?"

Yashamaru tensed. "What makes you think it means anything?"

"Names usually mean something, don't they? Why did my mother name me Gaara?"

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "I'm not really sure. But it doesn't matter, anyway. A name is just a name. It doesn't define who you are." He held Gaara's head to his shoulder. "Rest. We can talk more in the morning."

"Okay."

Yashamaru drifted off to sleep like that, holding Gaara, just as Karura had held him on so many nights in the long, lonely months after their parents' death.

* * *

"Why are we doing this, Yashamaru?"

Gaara stood in front of the bathroom sink as Yashamaru rubbed the dark brown dye into his nephew's wet hair.

"Your red hair is very easy for people to remember," said Yashamaru, "and when your father's search parties come through this town, they'll be asking about a red-haired child. This will make it a little harder for them to find us." Of course, Gaara's eyes were also quite unusual, but there was no easy way to change their color. Perhaps when they had a bit of spare time, he could teach Gaara a simple Transformation Jutsu. Until then, this would have to do.

"Is my hair going to be brown forever?"

"No, just for a few weeks. By then, we should be out of the Land of Wind and we won't have to be quite so careful." With a rubber-band, Yashamaru secured a plastic bag over Gaara's hair and stripped off his dye-stained gloves. "Leave that on for about half an hour. Then I'll rinse it off for you."

"Okay."

As they waited for the dye to seep in, Yashamaru took out the box of cinnamon rolls and opened it up. Gaara's face lit up. He picked up one and took a big bite, getting frosting all over his mouth and chin. Yashamaru smiled. It had been awhile since he'd seen Gaara express such enthusiasm for food.

He sat next to Gaara on the bed, and they ate together, licking the sweet icing off their fingers. "Hold still for a moment," said Yashamaru, and used the corner of a towel to wipe Gaara's mouth. "You've got a frosting beard."

Gaara smiled. He reached into the box, dipped his fingers in a puddle of frosting and smeared it on Yashamaru's chin. "Now you do too!"

Yashamaru blinked. Gaara was so rarely playful that it caught him off guard; for a moment, he was speechless. Then he laughed. "So I do." He wiped a bit of frosting from his chin with one finger and licked it up. Then he looked into Gaara's bright green eyes. "You seem to be in a good mood."

"I feel like things are going to get better now. And I'm with you. As long as you're with me I won't be sad." Gaara put his arms around Yashamaru's neck and kissed him on the cheek, getting more frosting on him. Then he tore off a piece of cinnamon roll and held it to Yashamaru's lips.

Yashamaru obediently opened his mouth and let Gaara feed him pieces of the sugary pastry.

He wondered how he had ever hated this child.

After they finished eating, Yashamaru wiped both their faces clean, then stood in front of the mirror. He needed to modify his own appearance. He closed his eyes and fixed an image firmly in his mind. Then he took a deep breath and made the proper hand signs. "_Henge no Jutsu!_"

A puff of smoke. Then Yashamaru turned and smiled at Gaara. "What do you think?"

Gaara tilted his head. "I like you better the normal way. You don't look like Yashamaru anymore."

"That's a good thing. We don't want people to recognize us, remember?" He looked into the mirror, studying his handiwork. He'd lengthened his hair and changed the color slightly—it was more brown now, less blond. He'd also softened the angles of his face, changed his eye-color to a pale honey brown, and added a gentle curve to his hips and chest.

A pang lanced through his heart. He'd unconsciously modeled his female self after Karura. Not surprising, perhaps—her image was more strongly imprinted in his memory than any other woman's. Though the hair was slightly different, the face that stared back at him now was the very image of his dead sister's.

After a moment, he turned away, his throat tight.

"Yashamaru? Are you okay?"

He looked up and forced a smile. "I'm fine. Let's go."

* * *

They left the inn and walked down the street, Yashamaru holding Gaara's hand. As they made their way toward the town gates, Yashamaru heard voices and froze.

Ahead, in the street, was a group of ninja. Among them, he recognized Baki, one of Sunagakure's Jounin. He was talking to a young man. Now, he held up a photograph, and the young man shook his head. "No, I don't think I've seen anyone like that. Well, come to think of it, two travelers came through the gate last night, but I didn't get a good look at them. You might want to ask the innkeeper."

"We'll do just that," said Baki. "In the meantime, don't let anyone leave the town."

Yashamaru's heartbeat quickened. He turned and hurried in the other direction, clutching Gaara's hand.

This was bad. They couldn't leave through the main gates, and if he ran over the wall, there was a good chance of being spotted. What's more, as soon as Baki spoke to the innkeeper, he'd know that Gaara and Yashamaru were somewhere in town.

"Yashamaru?" Gaara whispered.

"Shh. I need to think." He looked back and forth, heart pounding as sweat beaded on his brow. Clutching Gaara's hand, he darted down a side-street. They had to hide. The Kazekage couldn't possibly keep his Jounin stationed here for longer than a few days. His forces were stretched thin as it was. If they could just find someplace to lay low for a little while…

Baki leaped in front of him, a kunai in one hand. Gaara let out a startled cry.

"Did you really think we wouldn't find you?" Baki asked, his voice cold. "Or that a flimsy disguise would throw us off your trail?"

"I'm not handing Gaara over to you." Yashamaru drew a kunai from his pouch. He looked over his shoulder, and his stomach clenched tight. Jounin surrounded them on all sides, blocking all their escape routes. Gaara clung to his leg, breathing hard.

Baki advanced toward them. "Be reasonable. You can't run from us forever. The Kazekage is prepared to lighten your punishment if you cooperate."

Yashamaru flung the kunai. Baki deflected it easily with his own. Yashamaru clenched his jaw. "Why can't you just leave us alone? The Kazekage wanted Gaara gone, didn't he?"

"He thinks you're plotting revenge. He thinks you're planning to use Gaara against him somehow."

"And you believe that?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe. I have my orders. I take it you're not going to come quietly?" When Yashamaru didn't answer, he gave a hand signal to the other Jounin.

A hail of kunai flew toward Yashamaru…and a wall of sand surged up around him. The kunai bounced harmlessly to the ground. He looked at Gaara and saw his little face twist in rage.

He released Yashamaru's pant leg and strode toward Baki sand whipping around him in a miniature maelstrom.

Baki paled and took a step back. "G-Gaara…"

"Don't hurt Yashamaru." He stretched out an arm, fingers spread. The sand formed an enormous hand and reached for Baki, who leaped backwards, onto a nearby roof, narrowly avoiding the huge hand.

Another hail of kunai sailed toward Yashamaru and Gaara. The sand wrapped around them in a protective wall.

Yashamaru felt a strange pressure around his legs, and he looked down to see himself encased in sand from the knee down. He gasped. The sand continued to creep up over his back, chest and arms, forming a hard shell over his skin and clothes. "Gaara, stop!" he cried.

"Don't be afraid, Yashamaru," said Gaara, his voice strangely calm. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

And then Yashamaru realized. The sand covering his body wasn't a death-trap—it was armor. He stood rooted to the spot, breathless, as the sand spread over his head and face, leaving only his eyes exposed, along with two tiny holes to breathe through. He tried to move and found that he couldn't. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Gaara strode forward. Wind whipped through his hair and cloak as he raised both hands and curled them into fists. Sand wrapped around two Jounin and constricted. Bones snapped with a wet crunch, and the bodies dropped, limp and bloody, to the street. More ninja came at him, and he dispatched them with the same calm precision. For the first time, Yashamaru saw a hint of Iwao in Gaara—in the way he stood, back straight, legs apart—the look of iron determination in his eyes—the efficient, ruthless way he crushed enemy after enemy.

When it was over, every last Jounin lay dead on the ground.

The sand around Yashamara dissolved, and he dropped to his knees, breathing hard. He looked at the carnage around him. He'd known most of these men. He used to spar with Aki, who now lay in a broken heap, his clothes drenched red, a dark blood smear on the wall behind him.

Gaara approached, trembling, his eyes wide. All traces of the ferocious warrior had vanished, as if a switch had been flipped in his brain; he was a child again. "Yashamaru? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Yashamaru took a deep, shaky breath and stood. "We have to get out of here."

Gaara looked around, a dazed expression on his face. "Did I do all this?"

"You don't remember?"

"I was so angry and…and scared. Everything went all red." He bit his lower lip and trembled harder. "Did I really kill them all?"

"Don't worry about that right now." Yashamaru lifted Gaara onto his shoulders and ran out through the open gates. No one tried to stop them.

-To be continued


End file.
